


Knowledge & Pride

by MissNovella



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Kingdoms of Amalur
Genre: Dunno what to put here, F/F, F/M, FIx It, M/M, Trying for all the fluff, trying to make universe collision a thing and work out logically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-06-15 08:40:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNovella/pseuds/MissNovella
Summary: The Fateless One, Eola of House Drynne, breaks Gallows End off from Amalur as Tuatha attempt to invade the island. Two years of peace pass in this new plane when four unexpected castaways are shipwrecked there. Turns out other worlds exist, and not all enemies stay dead. Set during Inquisition. Relies heavily on the Dead Kel DLC





	1. Chapter 1

I race forwards through the caverns, my laughter echoing off the walls. There is no need to fear any creatures attacking- They have long since been wiped from the area. The Tidal Pool Caves now are an obstacle course and race track for the daring. Glancing behind me, I can see the Scoutmaster a dozen paces behind me. His dark brown hair is slickened with sweat, but he is grinning. I take a sharp turn, leading to the next jump. I leap off the moderate height, dropping into the water below. Then I swiftly swim to the next drop and leap from there. 

Climbing out of the water, I take off down the path again. Zefwyn disappears from sight, and I smirk. It seems I am going to win this round. After a few more minutes of bolting my way down the twisting path, I come to an opening. The last of the jumps, this ledge takes you right down to the tidal pools. Directly to the bottom of the cave. It is also the largest drop, at least doubling the height of the second highest. 

Without a second thought I vault over the top. Why would I have reason to pause? After all, I have been here dozens of times, and the creatures showed no sign of returning. 

I hit the water hard, but expecting the pain makes it easier to endure. I begin swimming towards the closest piece of land when a bolt of electricity strikes the water near me. I let out a shriek, unprepared for the strike. I swim faster until I reach the shore and look up to see my assailant. A murghan. No, not just one. They usually come in packs of four. Occasionally with banshaen, which births them. I dearly hope there isn’t a banshaen. They’re a pain to deal with. 

Taking a look around, I only see three murghan. Damn it. I send a jet of ice at my attacker and follow up with the remote fire detonation spell. Using my short teleport I easily avoid the lightning storm they summon. Annoyance takes over me. I cannot reach them with my chakrams from this distance, and my daggers are a laughable tactic. Another jet of ice is released from my hands and the first murghan goes down. I activate the spell, and the other two murghans explode in a burst of flames, but do not die. 

With an excited hollar, Zefwyn plummets from the cliff and into the water. I send another stream of ice at the murghans, spreading the shards out so both of them are hit. The Ljosalfar surfaces and quickly takes in the situation, amusement swiftly fading from his eyes. He dives under the water and begins swimming over to the small patch of land the murghan are on.

In an attempt to distract the creatures I activate and throw a shadow prism across the water. It erupts into a small but showy explosion, the attention of the dim witted creatures thoroughly captured. A jet of ice flies directly by me. Shocked, I find myself reeling backwards to look at the creator. An alfar, Ljosalfar by first glance. This alfar is bald, with blue grey eyes glinting at the creatures coldly. He wields a worn staff, and his expression is thunderous. He speaks to me, somewhat shortly in a language I do not understand. I look at him blankly before turning my attention back to the murghan. 

Before I can send another spell across, Zefwyn emerges from the water, stabbing one of the creatures and dragging its corpse into the icy water. He disappears under again. I shoot another ice spell, and the last murghan stumbles back. An arrow wizzes past me, and I turn to see a gnome holding some sort of heavily modified bow. Behind him is another man, almain most likely, and a second alfar. 

Zefwyn leaps out from the water again, and the last murghan is sunk into the tide pools. He surfaces shortly after with a grimace. “There’s blood in my beard! You know how long it’s going to take to get this out?” 

I can only grin wryly at him as he swims over. “Do not attempt to distract me. I won and you know it, Zefwyn. Pay up.” The Ljosalfar drags himself onto the patch of land, wringing his clothing out. With a small pout he tosses me a small satchel of gold. I easily catch it and shove it into my pack. 

Then, I turn to who I assume is another group of castaways. “I suppose your boat crashed as well? You are in luck. We just so happen to have a village here. You are more than welcome to stay, provided you make yourself useful.” I give them a slight smile as I gesture to the scoutmaster. “This is Zefwyn. I am Eola. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” With a shallow bow, I look up at the four expectantly. 

The reaction I get is confusion. The four of them begin speaking among themselves , somewhat frantically in a foreign language. I hum, curiosity shining through. This is not a language I recognize. Usually the accent would at least give clarification but none are obvious. “I suppose we should bring them to Deirdre. She is going to have a field day with this.” 

Zefwyn laughs. “Her eyes will go all big- not sure how they can get any bigger honestly- and then she’ll blink and tilt her head then say, ‘A new language?’ Then she’ll stay up for the next week learning the finer points of grammar for whatever gobbleygook they’re speaking.” 

I cannot help the snide exhale I let out as I smirk at him. “And then she’ll beg for them to tell her stories about their culture. They won’t be able to refuse, she’s too adorable to disappoint.” 

“Our secret weapon.” He grins cheerily, pushing his way towards the group of four. He addresses them with a broad smile. “Let’s get out of these dank caves, shall we? Follow us.”  
The two of us submerge ourselves back into the water, swiftly swimming towards the exit. They pause for a moment and then follow after us. They likely see no other choice. 

After a few moments they resurface onto the mouth of a tunnel. I am wary, expecting another murghan, or Akara forbid, a banshaen to appear in ambush. But nothing shows, and it seems the gods show mercy. As we follow the path out, the foreigners are speaking among themselves suspiciously. I pay no heed, seeing as I do not understand them anyways. 

We come to the mouth of the cave, and it opens up to a small ledge overlooking the forest. Zefwyn and I both jump down with the ease of a practiced vaulter. The almain man scoffs as he looks down the jump, but goes for it anyways. He stumbles a bit, but ultimately does not fall. With a triumphant smirk he turns to his comrades with a mocking bow as he steps out of the way. 

With the exception of the gnome, (Who fell on his ass after clinging to the ledge for a minute or two) they all made it down with dignity intact. Fortunately Gravehal Keep is not far from the entrance, and we have no need to cut through Cape Solace. A smooth, questioning voice jolts me out of my thoughts. I do not understand the words, but I look at the bald alfar questioningly. He gestures to himself. “Solas.” Then he gestures to me. His expression is expectant, his auburn eyebrow slightly raised. 

I put a hand to my chest. “Eola.” Then I point to the scoutmaster. “Zefwyn.” I turn my gaze back to the bald man. “Solas.” 

He smiles slightly, his blue eyes shining with interest. He points to a tree, and says what I assume to be said object in his language. I find myself cracking a small smile as I reply. “Tree.” 

It is almost a game. I learn that the almain man is named ‘Dorian.’ The gnome is ‘Varric’ and the other alfar is ‘Mahanon.’ We continue with various words until Gravehal Keep comes into view. Zefwyn steps forwards and pushes one of the doors open with his back. A grin grows onto his face as he calls into the courtyard. “Fresh castaways, everyone!” 

The moment we step into the courtyard I am swarmed by the Watchers. They wear blank, pale wooden masks and armour coloured with neutral beige and browns. The Watchers are an organization dedicated to protecting the Scion of Akara. It is their only purpose. Since I am the last recipient of this title, they are a little… Overbearing.

“Scion, you’ve returned!” The only female out of the three calls out as she leaps to my side. She frantically checks me for damage as the other two herd me away from the strangers. I can practically feel disapproval radiating off of her as she notices the scorch marks from the lightning. 

At the bewildered looks from the foreigners, I give a wry grin. The Watchers swiftly pull me towards the keep. I send Solas an apologetic shrug as I am rushed over to the keep. Entering said keep, the female Watcher forcefully drags me over to the priestess of Lyria, Jacinda. The priestess raises an eyebrow. “Have you got hurt running that plebeian obstacle course with the Scoutmaster? I expected this to happen.”  
I shift uncomfortably as her magic sweeps over me. The burn marks quickly fade away, skin smoothing and repaired without a trace. Her magic is rigid, yet also refined. It has a distinct feeling, like frost covering barren earth. 

I step away from Jacinda as soon as she finishes with a small smile. “Thank you, Jacinda. You may return to your… Pacing.” 

Jacinda gives an unimpressed look to me before she saunters off to the reading nook in the corner of the room. I take a few steps towards the throne. Before I reach the elevated platform, the female Watcher steps in the way. “You should rest, Scion.” 

“I must speak with Deirdre before anything else. She needs instructions. Then I must find the new people a place to stay. I will rest later.” I speak sternly, trying to convey my obligations and duties to the Watcher. My eyes narrow as her mouth opens to protest. I continue talking, not letting her interject. “If it will make you feel better, I will have Myfa pose as the ruler of Gravehal.”

Though I can practically sense her disheartenment, I will not relent. I am the Fateless one, and I am not to be babied or trifled with. I am pulled out of my thoughts by the auroch letting out a bellow. I tune to the orange-red creature and raise my eyebrow. It had been a diplomatic gift from the Dverga, and it has lived an unfortunately long life. Honestly, I am starting to think they spelled it to curse my halls for eternity. 

I step away from the Watchers, who now follow me from a distance. I approach my diplomat with a warm smile. “Myfa, I have a request of you.” 

She raises an eyebrow, and brushes a strand of her short vibrant orange hair behind her pointed ear. “How may I serve, Eola?” 

“We have four new guests. Zefwyn and I found them at the bottom of the Tidal Pools. They seem to be entirely foreign, and speak an unrecognizable language. I wish for you to pose as ruler of the keep, until we know they are trustworthy.” I speak to the older woman with a pleading smile as the Watchers loom behind me, their blank masks directed at Myfa. 

I turn an irritated smile at the self proclaimed bodyguards. “I would rather Myfa make her own choice, Watchers One, Two, and Three.”

The diplomat lets out an amused smile, not showing any discomfort towards her leige’s underlings. “I would be pleased to, my lady. It shall be an amusing pastime. What of the throne? Only the worthy may sit upon it, and I dare not take that chance.” 

“We’ll remove it and put it up in my bedroom for now. We can put a lounging couch there instead. That would suit well, yes?” I ask with a thoughtful smile, gesturing to the chaise lounge resting in her corner of the hall.  
She nods her head, a smug expression overtaking her features. “I know I am going to enjoy this little venture. I pray you do as well.” 

I let out a small giggle at her words. “I knew I could count on you.” Then I turn to the Watchers. “I suppose we can pretend that I am some sort of priestess. It is close enough to the truth.” 

The female Watcher grasps my shoulder. Firmly, but not enough to cause pain. “You are the Scion of Akara, voice of our benevolent lord. Not any mere priestess.”

Shrugging her off, I sigh and turn to the three Watchers with mild annoyance. “You three, please move the throne up to my room while I speak with Paddy.” 

Once the blank masked guardians move out of view I roll my eyes. “Honestly,” I remark to Myfa, somewhat exasperated. “It is as if I was an unruly child.” 

She lets out a quiet laugh before waving me away, towards the steward of Gravehal. I obey with a shallow mocking bow and make my way over to Paddy. Said gnome looks up at my approach. “Mistress! How may I be of assistance?” 

“Myfa will be pretending to be Gravehal Keep’s mistress until we know the visitors can be trusted. I hope you will make the arrangements?” I ask the architect. 

He nods enthusiastically. “Of course, my lady. Or, I suppose, Miss Eola.” 

I shake my head a slight smile on my face. “No. Scion will do. They already think I am someone important because the Watchers swarmed me when we entered. So I will just be Akara’s Scion, plain and simple.” 

“I understand. The preparations shall be made immediately. Perhaps you should return to Zefwyn. He is not a skilled host.” Paddy suggests with a fond chuckle. 

My mind blanks for a minute. I spin around and quickly stride towards the door. Zefwyn is a good fellow, fun to hang around with, but he is a little much sometimes. It would not be kind of me to leave them with him for too long.

I push the doors to the keep open, gleefully escaping the Watchers for the second time today. Stepping into the courtyard I take a sweeping glance around. My eyes land on the mismatched group by the fighting pit. 

Of course that is where Zefwyn would take him. Not to get food, not to the bathing chambers, but the the fighting pit. It seems someone needs lessons on hospitality. As I draw near to the pit I see Ollie, the fighting instructor brawling with Mahanon. It seems light hearted, laughter flowing between the two males. I come up right behind where the others are standing. I take hold of Zefwyn’s pointed ear, my grip tight. “What do you think you’re doing? They are tired and weary, not your entertainment!” I chastises him, my other hand on my hip. Dorian, Varric, and Solas spin around in surprise, not hearing my approach. 

Zefwyn twists. He ends up bending backwards slightly, looking up pleadingly at me. “Ah- I’m sorry, Lady Eola, I swear! I didn’t know what else to do and Ollie called me over so… yeah.” He finishes lamely.

I release his ear, rolling my eyes. “Go look for their ship. There might yet be other survivors.” 

He sticks his tongue out childishly before turning to the scout quarters and ducking inside. When the door shuts with a loud thud, I turn to our visitors with a smile. Mahanon has rejoined his companions and I nod to each of them in turn. “I am going to take you to the baths.” I make a scrubbing motion with my hands to demonstrate. 

Solas immediately understands and speaks to his companions. Dorian grins with a flourishing bow. He starts speaking quickly, but I am left with no impression of what he is trying to convey. The gnome smirks and tugs at his shirt, making the scrubbing motion over them. 

Oh. New clothing. That I can do. I round them up and bring them over Ambrose Flora’s merchant stall. I give the dokkalfar woman a warm smile. “Ambrose! I have a request for you.” 

She leans forwards, only her eyes visible from the veil covering her face. Her voice practically purs. “What may I do for you, my dear lady? I have the best wares on the island.” Ambrose’s tone is suggestive, but I brush it off. 

“These four need new clothing. I was wondering if you have something that might fit them.” I speak as I gesture to the males standing behind me. 

She casts an appraising eye over the newcomers and hums lightly. She turns and ducks under the counter, pulling a crate out. “This is what I have or peasant clothing. Then she pulls a smaller, second crate onto the counter. “This is what I have for mages. I do not carry armour, or gnome wares. You might have to ask Paddy or Bertrand for spares.” 

I smile. “Thank you.” I motion for the three taller males to look through the boxes while I turn to Varric. I point at Bertrand and motion him to follow me. The blond gnome exchanges a look with Mahanon before following after me with a shrug. On our way over I listen to him speak, but do not understand what he is saying. I only give a soft shake of the head before leading him to Bertrand. The red headed gnome looks up as we approach. 

“Miss Eola, I see we’ve gotten another gnome on board. I am glad to see another of my race.” He offers with a smile, turning towards Varric.

I nod my head and introduce the two “Varric, this is Bertrand. Bertrand, this is one of the new castaways, Varric. He does not speak our language.” 

The rouge dwarf blinks at the name before offering a cheery grin and offering his hand. Bertrand takes it and the two shake. I let out a small laugh before turning back to the alchemist. “Ambrose does not have any gnomish clothing. I was wondering if you may be able to spare a few of your own? Else poor Varric will be wandering bare whilst his own are being washed.” 

The ginger gnome lets out a loud laugh, and pats Varric on the shoulder. “Sure, anything for one of my kin. I’ll be back momentarily.” He departs from his garden and casually walks towards the living quarters. 

I lead Varric back to Ambrose’s stall where the others each had picked a few bundles of clothing. Dorian is practically vibrating in glee as he swings a set of blue mage robes around, presumably bragging to his companions. I subtly cringe. Most of the items picked out have heavy enchantments. It seems I shall have to redo my finances. “How much for what they’ve picked out, Ambrose?”

“60,000 gold, dear. You are quite the generous soul.” She speaks with a wink. I wince at the steep price before nodding in agreement. 

“Come up to the keep later tonight, I’ll have your gold for you then.” I say, quickly ushering the four away. I had seen a tinge of a blush on Mahanon’s face and felt I should intervene. The first time I met Ambrose, she insinuated that I was calling her a prostitute. Teasingly of course, but I wouldn’t submit anyone else to that sort of embarrassment. 

I lead them towards the underground tunnels. We had only expanded under the keep a few years ago, but we found something that was indeed worth our time. An underground spring. Now we no longer have to drag water from the well everytime someone wishes to bathe. The underground also houses most of the living quarters and emergency supplies. 

As we approach the entrance I heard my name being called. I turned to look, only to see the Watchers exiting the keep. I quickly dart into the cave, out of sight of the busybodies. Solas raises an eyebrow as I press a single finger to my lips. “Shh.” Varric winks as they all hurry into the caves.

The group gains a mischievous air as we venture into the caves. Dorian, Varric, and Mahanon chatter amicably as Solas attempts to make conversation with me. “Eola, wiht si pisiitin hetre?” 

I only blink at the unfamiliar language. “I’m sorry Solas, but I do not understand.” I offer him an apologetic smile as we come to the dividing path. He hums contemplatively, returning to his silence. I lead them down the left side, and a few moments later we reach the hotspring. 

I encourage them towards the pool and walk to the side of the opening. A large curtain is tied to the side. I untie it and let it fall, allowing it to become a screen for their privacy. I turn to leave, but am stopped when the curtain is pulled back. The group of them are looking at my with curious expressions. I smile and tug my clothes. “I am going to get clothing for Varric. I will be back in twenty minutes.” I use my hands to demonstrate the number twenty, opening both hands twice. 

Dorian offers a brilliant smile before dropping the curtain. I take my leave of the caverns and head towards Bertrand, who is looking around and holding a bundle of clothing. “Bertrand!” I call as I approach the gnome. “Thank you for giving Varric some of your clothes. I will have you appropriately compensated.” 

“No need, Miss Eola. But if you were so inclined, I could use another herb gatherer..” Bertrand trails off, a cheeky smile on his face. 

I laugh, exasperation ringing clear. “Akara preserve me from the ruthlessness of gnomes. Yes Bertrand, I shall find someone to help you with herbs.” 

He gives me a sharp smile and turns back to the garden. “I’m sure you have things to do, Miss. Like avoiding the Watchers and playing hostess. Best get back to it.” 

“Very well. We shall speak another time.” I reply, an ashamed blush growing on my face. It is somewhat of a poorly kept secret that I make a hobby of frustrating the Watchers.

I turn on my heel and start towards the library, intent on speaking to Deirdre. Only to be stopped by the sight of the Watchers, prowling around, still searching for me. I roll into Ambrose’s stall, hiding behind the counter. She looks down at me with an amused grin, but says nothing as she continues sorting her wares. I wait a few moments before popping my head over the counter, my eyes searching the courtyard. Seeing nothing, I launch over the counter and sprint to the library. 

Once I reach the large wooden doors, I shut them behind me quickly. My best friend’s large brown eyes blink up at me. “Welcome to the library!” She lets out a light, girlish giggle. “I love saying that.” 

I gesture for her to take a seat at the table. We both sit. She leans forwards eagerly, tucking her chin length brown hair behind one of her pointed ears. “Have you found another text for me to translate? It has been quite awhile since the last.”

“No, but I have found something that will surely be a greater challenge.” I reply, my voice teasing. 

She claps her hands together excitedly. “Oh! What is it? A unique dialect? Perhaps ancient runes of an unknown civilization?” 

I cannot help the worried expression that takes over. “We have four new castaways, and they do not speak our language.”

Deirdre’s eyes widen. “But that isn’t possible. When the Tuatha came for the island, you and Akara ripped us from that plane of existence. We can’t be getting visitors. Not unless…” 

“Not unless this plane is not as barren as we first thought. Is it not possible Akara’s residual power shielded us from view and prevented us from leaving? Its intent was always to protect us.” I reply, my voice growing grim. “Which can only mean that the one behind the shipwreck…” 

“Dead Kel.” Deirdre breaths, horrified. “But you killed him! It isn’t possible.”

“Fate’s tapestry is gone. Anything is possible. Especially with residue power from a World Tree.” I reply to her, somewhat chastisingly. “I did not truly think Dead Kel truly passed from this world. The fight was too easy. However, I was inclined to accept Akara’s judgment on the matter.” 

Deirdre frowns. “I suppose you want me to help them learn common, then?” Her fingers tap the dark coloured wood table. “Very well, I accept.” 

“Let them think we are an isolated island, with only castaways as population. Let them know nothing of Amalur. We need information on this world if we are to survive.” I speak to her, rising from my seat. 

Deirdre nods. “Be careful. Even as powerful as you are... Be wary.” 

I bow my head in acceptance of her words and gather up Bertrand’s spare clothes. “I will speak to you later.” 

“May Lyria bless your path.” 

I crack the door of the library open, warily casting a glance across the courtyard. I see the Watchers speaking with Zefwyn, over by the fighting pit. The ljosalfar winks at me as his voice grows louder. “She told me she was going to Souldeep Fasting to look for more information on Akara.” 

The three Watchers rush for the doors, quickly out of the keep and presumably to Souldeep Fasting. The ruin will take awhile to search thoroughly, so I should have a few hours of peace. I grin at Zefwyn and shake my head. The Watchers fall for it everytime. 

I turn from the common area and start towards the caves, ready to retrieve our new visitors from their bath. The stroll is quiet. Usually there are reserved times for who may bath when, but generally newcomers get to go first. Only fair, since most newcomers had just survived a shipwreck. 

I turn down the corridor to find three of them chatting on the outside of the curtain, Varric still on the other side. “Hello!” I call out as I approach, a smile on my face. “I have clothes for Varric.” I offer the bundle to Mahanon, the one closest to me. 

He accepts the bundle with a smile, and ducks through the curtain to give it to the gnome. A moment later Varric strides through the curtain, exclaiming something to his companions. He winks at me, his tone teasing.

I roll my eyes and move forwards to tie the curtain back. I gather up the hite cotton material and sweep it to the side, tethering it there by the small hook that juts out of the stone cave wall. I turn back to them and lead them out of the caverns. 

“Eola, ar'an ane serannas sul mar halani.” Solas speaks, his eyes glinting. I pause, and turn to face him. It sounds like a different language, one that is much more fluid than the one they usually use. That does not change the fact I do not understand his words. I shake my head. “Forgive me, but I still cannot understand.” 

He frowns, and the spark in his vivid blue eyes dim. I pat him on the shoulder lightly before starting to leave the cavern. The group follows behind me. “We are going to meet Lady Myfa, and then get you something to eat.” 

They follow behind me as we exit the caves and make towards the keep. Zefwyn jogs up the path to greet us, a grin on his face. “Did you see how quick the Watchers took off? They’ll be in Souldeep Fasting for ages until they figure out we’ve given them the runaround again.” 

I let out a soft laugh, bumping my shoulder with his own. We continue walking towards the keep. “Shouldn’t you be gone by now? Every second wasted-”

“Is an opportunity gone. Yeah, I know. I’ll be back tomorrow. Have fun with your charade!” He says, giving me a flippant wave as he dashes down the path and out the front gates. I sigh, shaking my head as I halt the group in front of the doors to the keep. 

I try to demonstrate we are meeting someone important, by giving a bow and pointing at the door, but give up after I am graced with blank looks. Fuck it. I shove the doors open, a tad dramatically. The entirety of the hall stops to look at the visitors. 

“Presenting Solas, Varric, Dorian, and Mahanon, recent castaways.” I call across the room. I conceal a smirk, seeing Myfa lounging on top of a chaise. She regards us with an amused and lethargic air. She very much fits the picture of a ruler, elegant and poise unlike any other on the island. Except Cydan. He is the literal epitome of the greatness that used to be the Winter Court. 

I guide them around the table towards Myfa. I offer her a shallow bow, stepping to the side to allow her to see the guests. Solas is hiding poorly concealed shock. Perhaps it is Myfa’s clothing? She is both flamboyant and revealing. Scandalous to some. 

Myfa runs her fingers along the side of the cream colored chaise, delicately setting her book down. She raises a delicate eyebrow. “Castaways, Eola? It cannot be so.” 

I bow again, playing the part of a meek underling. “Zefwyn and I found them in the tidal pools, my liege.” 

“Ah. What is this I hear about them not speaking any known language?” She asks, playing the part for all it’s worth. Her gaze turns to the newcomers. She places a hand gracefully to her chest. “I am Myfa. I hope that the shipwreck has not done you too much harm. We were all once victims of such unfortunate circumstances.” 

They cannot respond, unknowing of the words spoken around them. Uneasiness creeps up on the unfortunate travellers visibly. I step in front of them. “Might I suggest we house them for the night, and have Deirdre examine their language tomorrow? We are not showing proper hospitality.”

Myfa’s eyes glint. She lets out a light laugh, politely covered by her hand. She motions for me to come forwards. When I am within range, she pats my head. “I assume you want responsibility over them, Eola?”

I shoot her a disapproving look. “I want to learn.” 

Her smile sharpens. “I would but- oh. It seems your wayward guardians have caught up with you. It seems Paddy shall have to go in your stead.” 

I spin around, startled at the proclamation. The four visitors recoil at the quick action, but I look past them. Indeed, the three Watchers are leaning by the only exit to the keep. My shoulders slump. “Ah.” 

The female one marches over and grasps my arm, pulling me to Myfa’s old area, which now holds a small elevated platform and another lounging couch. I am practically pushed onto it as one of the male watchers forces a cup of water into my hand. It seems I have been retired for the night. For a second time, I offer the castaways an apologetic shrug of the shoulders as I am scolded for running off. I tune the Watchers out as I observe Paddy leading them up to the third floor, likely to make use of the empty attic room. Trying to follow is pointless. Now that the Watchers have found me, I will likely not be able to escape their gaze again till tomorrow. 

Solas glances at me as he turns to the staircase. I nod my head encouragingly as the Watchers shove a plate of cut up fruit at me. Feeling my patience waning I sigh. May as well indulge them this once. Tomorrow, the evasion game shall begin anew. I stifle a smirk as I pick up an apple slice. 

Things are becoming interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold makes the paper work fairy stay away.  
> Maps? There are no maps here.  
> More lessons!

Alyn Shir, 

Since the defeat of Gadflow, Fate itself has vanished. Not a single fateweaver I have spoken to can read the threads. While this in itself is damning proof, there is still a problem. I can still fateshift. To refresh your memory, I was removed from the weave after being resurrected. (See Well of Souls). This allowed me to manipulate the threads to my liking, often using it to vanquish mighty foes and change fates. Usually in the form of slaying or preventing death. 

In the light of this evidence, I propose the idea that Fate has simply evolved. One that branches out, and changes on a whim. Every choice from every individual affects the outcome. Fates that are not set in stone, but drawn into the sand; easily washed away. It explains why it is more difficult to collect strands of fate, since they are no longer as condemning. 

I suppose we can only hope for the best, and that the people of Amalur will be responsible with this new development. 

-Eola of House Drynne 

LINEBREAK

 

I spend most of the morning in my room. Paperwork, even on an island of shipwrecks, proves to be a fearsome foe. Requests to clear out caves, to beat down faer gorta, to collect supplies, and so on. Always something to do. No matter how much we hunt the creatures that inhabit the island, they always seem to spawn back up somewheres. Especially the scavs. Nasty creatures, always lurking about and spitting acid. 

That is not even mentioning the Niskaru that continually spawn from the beach. Every few days I go out there to kill a Niskaru Tyrant. It keeps returning and for the love of Akara I cannot figure out why. It isn’t like I could just let them keep spawning. They’d crush Cape Solace, even with the walls we built around the village. 

Hm. Collapsing the cave might be for the best, but any who might wash up there would die horribly. Plus, there is no telling if the niskaru might find a way around regardless. What if they breed? An army of niskaru is nobody’s friend. I run a hand through my dark brown hair. Overthinking leads to nothing but mistakes. I should take a break. 

After changing out of my nightgown and into my casual green mage robes, I strap my chakrams to my back, and my daggers to my hip. Then I stroll out of my room. I walk to the bannister and look down at the hall. The Watchers are lingering near the door, prepared for my inevitable escape attempt. My eyes turn towards Myfa, who is clearly enjoying her new role. She is conversing with Sunhilda, the previous ljosalfar ambassador to Gallow’s End. 

Sunhilda’s presence was very, very awkward when she first arrived. I have no idea where her people got the idea of an arranged marriage, but I put a quick stop to that. Now I am only glad that she does not continue insisting for my hand. Just… no. Sweet girl, but not my cup of tea.

I see a stack of paperwork sitting on the corner of the bar and deflate. It is truly the bane of all sentient life. I really need an assistant. Or a secretary. Damn it, ruling is hard! I miss adventuring and just generally doing what I want. Honestly, help a gnome once and then you’re suddenly a ruler of an island. Actually...I helped another gnome and she gave me a mansion. I helped another one and was resurrected. Sensing a pattern here. Hm.. Maybe I shouldn’t help Bertrand find a new herb collector. Who knows what will happen. 

“Hni, Eola!”

My eyes shift to the otherside of the bar, to see our four visitors casually lounging at the bar, dishes long empty. Varric is waving at me enthusiastically as he beckons me down. Pushing off the railing I make my way down the stairs. Myfa offers me a small smile as I pass her and Sunhilda. I nod my head to her and casually make my way towards the bar. I hop up on the stool next to Dorian. “Toomy, something to eat, please.” 

The traveler nods, a smirk growing on his face. “You hear the rumor about Lady Myfa?” His voice grew quieter, almost non existent. “She was sleeping with Cirillian back on Cape Solace. Turns out she thinks he isn’t good enough for her anymore.”

I blink. That was random, and I did not need hear about that. “Ah. Well, thanks for the information.” 

He smirks and nods to the pile of paperwork. “Speaking of information, you have another round of requests from Cape Solace.” 

I let my head smack into the wooden counter. “Ugh.” 

The stack of paper is pushed towards me. Toomy smiles cheerily. “Have fun!” 

I blame Paddy. This is all his fault. If it wasn’t for his weird dream I wouldn’t be the mistress of Gravehal. Damn gnomes, always being so tricky and sneaky. This is what I get for being a good person. “Toomy, find someone to sort through this monstrosity and I’ll pay you.” I groan, not wanting to spend hours pouring over papers. 

I reach into my purse and drop a generous pile of gold on the table, pushing the stack of papers towards him. “Take it away. Don’t want.” 

The dokkalfar bastard laughs, swiping up the coins. He quickly counts them and then stuffs them into his pocket. The pile of papers is removed from my sight. I raise my head, only to find Varric grinning at me madly. He remarks something to his comrades and looks pointedly at me. “Vejari!” 

I only raise an eyebrow as Dorian coughs lightly, a smirk growing on his face. I look at Varric. “What does that mean?” A crease forms between my brows. I hope he isn’t calling me names. Mahanon lets out a light chuckle, and even the ever solemn seeming Solas twitches with the tiniest of smirks for a second. 

Toomy sets down a couple pieces of toast and a small block of cheese down in front of me. I pick up the plate and gesture for them to follow me. I lead them to the library, devoutly ignoring the presence of the Watchers. 

Deirdre greets us with large, sleepy brown eyes as we enter the building. She blinks, a smile growing on her face. “Ah, good morning. Welcome to the library.” 

Both Solas and Dorian are looking around at the books with mildly excited eyes. I usher them to the table, looking over the papers set out on the table. A graph of numbers up to one hundred, the alphabet written out, a couple of books for children. Nothing history orientated, as requested. I nod approvingly at Deirdre as I take a seat opposite to them. The cheery dokkalfar begins her instructions, starting with them writing down their alphabet and numbers. Once finished, she demonstrates them writing simple words down. ‘Book.’ ‘Chair.’ ‘Fire.’ ‘Shoes.’ Are the first ones on the list. I observe while eating my breakfast, watching the linguist as she furiously scribbles and splatters ink everywhere. Adeline gravitates over to us, standing next to me as she watches Deirdre with amusement. 

The Watchers hover near the door. They shoot glances at me from time to time, checking that I haven’t mysteriously disappeared. I suppress a snort. So suspicious. Not that I blame them of course. I do have a tendency to run into crazy situations. Mostly because of gnomes. (Hughes, Ventrinio, I am looking at you.) 

My thoughts are broken by a smooth voice. “Hello, Eola.” I blink and look up from the table. Solas is looking at me with expectant blue eyes. 

“Hello, Solas.” I reply, mirth clear in my tone. I turn to Deirdre, who is nearly vibrating with excitement. “Good, Solas! Well done!” She praises the ljosalfar. She barely refrains from patting his head like a well behaved pet. 

Dorian huffs and turns to Adeline. “Good mooring, Miss.” 

Adeline, Deirdre and I break into light laughter. The almain woman speaks up. “Morning, not mooring. Morning.” He flushes slightly, before repeating the correct phrase. 

“Good morning.” Adeline replies with an incline of her head. “I am Adeline Kirk.” 

Deirdre claps her hands. “Yes, let us move onto introductions. She looks over at me and bows shallowly. “I am Deirdre Gwint.” 

I put on my best haughty expression. “I am Eola of House Drynne, Scion of Akara.” I formally bow. Deirdre breaks out in giggles. 

Mahanon clears his throat, directing our attention to him. I tilt my head, silently asking ‘what?’  
He pulls a piece of parchment from his bag, and rolls it out onto the table. A map. I prevent myself from jolting, sending a warning glance at Adeline. She seems to understand and only hums passively. The terrain displayed on the map is wholly unfamiliar. 

I look it over quickly, committing it to my mind. Then I rise, going to get a map. One that displays only the island. Might as well play to their expectations. This is also a good thing, now I can make sure all the maps are taken down. It wouldn’t be any good if our deception was discovered so easily. That also means we cannot give them unfiltered access to our library. I will have to get Paddy to go through the books. 

This is nearly more effort than it’s worth. But, if that map is correct… There are many civilizations. From the size of them, ones that can easily crush a small island worth of people. I cannot allow that to happen. Maybe it would be best to… My gaze turns to the group speculatively. No. Not yet. If they prove themselves a threat, then I will act. No sooner. We are not the Tuatha, killing senselessly and without due cause. 

I pull out a map of Gallow’s End, one excluding Amalur and any surrounding islands. I pass it to Mahanon and sit down. His companions all lean over to take a look at the map. He turns to look at me, and gestures, trying to imitate something larger. A larger map. I frown and return to the shelf, finding one that included some of the smaller islands and a large expanse of water that stops just before hitting Rathir. With I frown I turn towards them, handing the larger map over. Mahanon frowns, frustration on his features. He gestures again. 

I shake my head, pointing at the map I had just set down. I will not give up information on Amalur that easily. Just as Mahanon turns his disenchanted expression to me, the doors of the library burst open. The Watchers are startled, one of the male ones stumbling as he turns to face the culprit. 

Zefwyn balances on one leg, the other sticks out behind him and his arms spread upwards. One of his hands holds a tan coloured pack. The pack has delicate green and purple stitching and a silver clasp. Zefwyn grins. “I have returned!” The Watchers glower behind their faceless masks. He sways a little and drops his leg back to the ground. “And I found this!” 

Perfect timing. 

Dorian jolts up from his chair, trotting over to retrieve the bag with a gleeful expression. It seems Zefwyn did find something useful after all. At least he didn’t bring seashells home this time. The almain man turns to Deirdre, making a gesture to himself and then to Zefwyn. 

Deirdre’s eyes light up with understanding. “Ah! It’s ‘Thank you, Zefwyn.’” She looks in between the two with an approving nod. “Thank you, Zefwyn.” 

Dorian parrots the phrase, a flourishing bow accompanying the carefully pronounced words. He then snatches the bag after Zefwyn offers it to him, crushing it in an embrace as he opens it. He flips the top down and takes out a few tomes. He places them on the table, carefully inspecting the covers. They seem to be in good condition, and as Dorian lets out a small exclamation of joy. 

I can practically see Deirdre spark with excitement. She stretches her hands out in a ‘Give me, give me!’ motion. Her face turns to Dorian, her wide eyes blinking pleadingly. 

“Pieris, Dorian?” She asks, in what I assume is their language. It seems I was absorbed in my thoughts longer than I thought. 

He slides the tome over, much to the cheery dokkalfar’s delight. “Thank you, Dorian!” 

I clap my hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “It is time for a practical lesson. As in, we are going to collect reagents for Bertrand.” Mostly to distract them from the map situation, otherwise because Mahanon was practically yawning at the lessons. 

“An excellent idea! I shall go too. It has been awhile since I’ve left the keep.” Deirdre agrees, shutting the book gently. “I can teach them colours and the names of landmarks this way.” 

I nod and turn to Adeline. “Will you becoming as well?” 

She shakes her head. “I have a quiet afternoon of tea and books planned. But you all have fun. I imagine I will be seeing much more of you lot in the near future.” She waves her hand briefly in farewell as she strolls back to her padded chair. 

“What of you, Zefwyn?” I ask my partner in crime, an eyebrow raised questioningly. 

“Reports to write, Eola. No rest for the mischievous.” He smirks, his eyes flickering to the Watchers. “We can cut and run later.” 

The faceless warriors stiffen, but otherwise do not react. I wave my hand at the Watchers, telling them to disregard the comment. “Watchers One, Two, and Three may accompany us for protection.” I step over to Deirdre and pat her cheek gently. “I will not risk your safety.”

She smiles brilliantly. “Thank you, Eola! I am quite handy with my daggers though. I should be alright.” Her brown eyes light up before she speaks again. “Let’s bring a picnic lunch, it’s almost noon.” 

I pat her head before stepping away. “As you wish. I suggest you bring a book on plants, I suspect they will have to learn what not to touch.” I turn towards the Watchers again. “One of you go get a picnic lunch, please. Enough for… nine, if you three are eating.” You know, I have never seen the Watchers eat. Who knows, maybe the reason why they are so obsessed with the Scion is that they absorb energy from her. I have seen stranger. 

“Oh, and take this plate back as well, please.” I push my plate towards the Watchers with an innocent looking smile. Number 3 (I can only tell because he is slightly taller than Number 2) slides the plate into his hands and and vanishes out the door. 

I shrug at the amused expression Zefwyn gives me. “If someone else will do it, why bother?”

He pretends to consider for a moment before nodding in agreement. “That’s fair. Anyways, unlike a certain someone, I don’t have the gold to make paperwork mysteriously disappear. Damn paperwork…” Zefwyn is out the library doors and gone. 

After Deirdre flits about and collects all the texts she needs (After discarding most of the precariously tall pile she wanted to bring) I herd everyone outside to wait for Watcher number 3. We find ourselves lounging about the common area, trying to improve the strangers vocabulary. 

Sky. Grass. Dirt. Butterfly. Fence. Cloud. Sun. 

I struggle to make them understand ‘Wind’ as I gesture my arms in wavy motions in the air. Varric gets it first, laughing gleefully at the gesture. He seems to have snagged some writing materials from somewheres, and a leather bag. The gnome scribbles something down on his parchment, mumbling something absently. 

Number Three arrives with two picnic baskets and a large plaid blanket thrown over his shoulder. It lends him a rather ridiculous look, the neutral tones of his armour thrown off by the red and green lines of the blanket. A fashion catastrophe. I stifle my amusement as I look to Dorian, similar thoughts written across his face plainly. 

I am content to leave the Watcher with his burden as I lead our group outside. Being a pack mule is a good punishment for the babying they force me to endure. 

Once outside the keep, I direct us into the tunnels Paddy cleared out to make travelling easier. I plan to put the picnic blanket down within seeing distance of the Dark Harbour. To give them the impression we had tried to build boats, but were overrun with Faer Gorta. Makes sense with the whole ‘isolated island community’ angle I am going for. 

The rock golem that is usually in the area will show them that it’s dangerous to wander. Plus, I will be able to show them the many plants in the area. As in: What not to eat else you will die painfully. Hopefully the lesson will stick. 

I begin by pointing out the scarlet flowstone, sitting inconspicuously on the side of the cave wall. I make an eating gesture, and then shake my head. Because children, do not eat mysterious red rocks. Pulling on a pair of leather gloves I keep in one of my many pouches, I demonstrate how to harvest the mineral. Little chunks are chiselled off and wrapped up in cloth. Bertrand will later refine it into power to make potions with. Dorian and Solas seem particularly interested in the scarlet flowstone, but weary of touching. All for the better, these stones are nasty for beginners. Sharp and jagged, they have their name for a reason. 

Deirdre is happily chatting with the foreigners, teaching them a plethora of new words. Solas is on his way to stringing basic sentences together, Dorian and Varric not far behind. Mahanon seems significantly less interested in both language and alchemy. Though that is of little matter, academics cannot be everyone's strong suit. (Gnomes.)

We come to the opening of the cave. I signal everyone to stop, hearing the thuds of a rock golem. Number Three sets the picnic baskets down silently. The picnic blanket is dropped on top. I crouch, more than confident in my ability to take a golem down alone. After defeating Tirnoch single handedly, not much offers me a challenge.

Sneaking around the corner, I unsheathe my daggers and slowly stalk behind the golem. Springing off the ground, I leap onto its back, stabbing it multiple times with my ice enchanted daggers. Then I teleport away, leaving the Watchers to claim the creatures attention. Then I take on a more passive position, casting heals and barriers. No use in letting the opportunity go to waste. I wish to see what these outsiders are capable of. 

Mahanon rushes into the fray with his greatsword swinging about wildly. He utterly destroys the battle flow the Watchers had established. I quickly cast a barrier on Watcher one as the golems’ fist slams onto her. The golems hand glances off the barrier and the beast stumbles away in surprise. Solas and Dorian start flinging magic at the creature as Varric loads up his mechanical bow. 

Mildly disapproving of their tactics, I cast a heal on Mahanon. He is too slow with that huge sword to effectively dodge. A damage absorber type. I turn a speculative glance towards Solas and Dorian. It seems they are both competent with offensive magic, but true talents lie elsewheres. Unless they’re just competent and nothing more. However, both of them hold themselves with the utmost confidence, and no one who is just okay at magic would have such posture. Unless they’re egomaniacs. 

Varric seems like more the charming and persuasive type of rouge rather than the sneaky stabby sort. Both are just as dangerous as the other. A well weaved rumor is deadly as the poisoned blade. 

With the eight of us fighting (Deirdre had chosen stay by her books near the picnic supplies) the rock golem falls quickly, crumbling apart. I turn to Mahanon with a mild frown. He had endangered Number One with his recklessness. I may be annoyed with them, but they are citizens of Gallow’s End. Mine to protect and guard. 

I allow my eyes to narrow. “Be more cautious in the future, boy. In Rathir you would be punished for such carelessness.” Someone with that lack of caution would not have even passed the *Rites of Introduction, let alone been permitted out of the city. 

Then I let it go. He would not understand what is being said. When he has a better grasp on the language I will revisit the topic. I heal up the other Watchers and instruct Number Three to pick up the baskets and the blanket. Mahanon looks a bit taken back, as if someone hasn’t had the audacity to scold him in a good long time. Pfft. Spoiled kid. 

Blue. Green. Brown. White. Black. 

Deirdre breaks the awkward feeling in the air by teaching them colours. Fortunately we reach a large open plain void of any foes. No boggarts, brownies, or other annoyances in sight. In the distance, the wooden platforms of Dark Harbour is visible. Watcher Three spreads the blanket down, and Deirdre uses some of her books to keep the wind from blowing the corners up. It is an idyllic day. A few large, fluffy clouds roll by in the sky. Said sky is a vibrant blue. It is warm, but not overwhelmingly so, and the winds are strong enough to keep the little pests away. 

Deirdre opens her book and starts on her lesson as the Watchers go to collect reagents. The simple ones, of course. They would be unable to gather things like scarlet flowstone and scarwood bark without injuring themselves. 

I find myself laying back on the blanket, watching the clouds float by. Absently, I find my mind wandering. I wonder if before my resurrection I did things like this. Cloud watch, maybe with Ayln Shir? I bet she would have. Such a softie underneath all that snark. Perhaps I had siblings, who would argue with me bitterly but stand by my side when needed? Parents. Surely, I have parents somewheres? What do they think? That their daughter is... gone? 

“Eola?” Deirdre’s questioning voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I have been getting too caught up in my mind this last while. 

I sit up, brushing my bangs behind my ear. “Yes?” I look at the five of them curiously. 

 

“Solas asked you a question.” Deirdre replies, looking to the ljosalfar encouragingly. 

Blinking, I smile sheepishly at him. “Forgive me, I was lost in thought.” 

“Is this… fence, world? Away from Thedas?” He asks, struggling to find the correct translation. 

I nearly flinch, but carefully conceal my reaction. “We are indeed fenced off from Thedas.” Not a lie. “All of us were shipwrecked here at some point, or our ancestors were. We tried escaping but…” Not a lie considering there is a barrier around the island. We were too cautious to try anything with only our small rowboats. (The Requiem had been smashed up by the Tuatha.) 

I gesture to the Dark Harbour. “The Faer Gorta keep reappearing, no matter how many times we clear them out.” Also not a lie. Lies are too easily discovered. Tell them the truth in a twisted manner and allow them to make their own conclusions. Only lie when there are no other options available.

He seems to understand the gist of what I said. “Are you Elvhen?” 

I laugh lightly, willing to give this easily explained bit of information away. “Elvhen? No, we’re Dokkalfar. At least Deirdre and I are. Zefwyn is Ljosalfar.” 

He looks confused. I cannot help but smile at his puzzled face. Such an amusing facial expression. Grim and thoughtful. Stretching out my hand, I poke his nose, a smirk growing across my face. “I can practically see your thoughts racing. Just enjoy the moment, worry later.” 

Solas visibly startles. His hand raises to his nose, all most as if he thought he had imagined the poke. He frowns. 

I laugh again, cheerily getting onto my feet. I step off the blanket and kick off my boots. “Deirdre, let’s make flower crowns.” 

Her face lights up, and she clasps her hands together with glee. “What a marvelous idea!” She leaps up, forgetting about the book on her lap. It topples to the ground with a thud. Her face becomes one of horror. 

“No, no, did I damage it? If any of the pages are creased it will be unforgivable!” She reaches for the book in a hurry examining its pages. I stifle a laugh at her clumsiness. 

Fondly, I take the book from her hands and set it down on the blanket. “It is fine, Deirdre. We have other copies of this particular tome.” 

She pouts, still protesting. “But-”

I give her a small push off the blanket, towards the patch of blue and yellow flowers a few feet away. “Fret about the book later.” I place a hand on her back and nudge her towards the flowers. 

The two of us make our way to the flora littering the plains, the four strangers watching with curiosity. Deirdre and I gather up as many flowers as we can, gently breaking the stems. Once we have an acceptable amount, we return to the blanket and deposit them. Deirdre demonstrates the weaving pattern, shoving some of the flowers towards them. Mahanon’s eyes light up. He begins weaving with practiced skill. 

Heh. The warrior likes flowers, hm? 

Solas also seems to know what he is doing, carefully placing each stem together in elegant twists and braids. Varric on the other hand… He seems to have managed a knot of sorts. The gnome grins sheepishly as I raise an eyebrow at him. He laughs, pointing a crooked finger at me. “No word, vejar.” 

I raise my eyebrow questioningly. “...Vejari?” 

He looks to Deirdre. “To, hm, anyied? To beriar…” 

“Vex! That’s the word you want. Vex! It means to trouble, bother, or annoy.” Deirdre replies with her boundless enthusiasm. 

“Vexie.” 

If there was a wall to bang my head against… But I only blink at him, a dismayed expression taking over my face. Did he just call me vexing? Way to be rude to your hostess. 

Deirdre shakes her head patiently. “No, it’s vexing not vexie. See, as an example: “Eola finds the Watchers vexing.” 

Varric shakes his head. “No. Eola is Vexie. Two name.”

Ah. A nickname. Lovely. Praise the gods that Agarth isn’t here. I would never, ever, hear the end of it. Or Akara forbid, Onwing. 

Deirdre completes her flower crown, and drops it onto my head. I startle a bit, but offer her a soft smile as I adjust the crown a bit. As I run my fingers over the stems I can tell it is clumsily woven, but it matters little. I focus on weaving my crown, passing it to Deirdre once I finish. She smiles brilliantly, gently placing it atop of her head. 

With a snort Varric puts down his knot of flowers, throwing his hands up in the universal surrender motion. Dorian, however, has made some sort of bouquet of tastefully arranged flowers. I take a glance at Solas and Mahanon, who have both finished their crowns. Mahanon’s is a simple, but neatly woven pattern. I nearly choke as I look over the bald alfar’s flower crown. It is nothing less than a masterpiece, elegant braids, delicate twists, and careful patterns make a truly exquisite example of what all weavers should strive for. 

“If this was a contest, then you’ve surely won.” I stated blankly, still surprised at the amount to effort he put into such an inconsequential thing. Solas understands the majority of my words, smugness radiating off of him with a small complacent smile. 

Out of the corner of my eyes I see the Watchers returning with various common reagents. As the plants are deposited, I carefully show them which ones are edible and which ones to avoid. Dorian and Solas are fascinated with these ‘new’ plants. 

I roll my eyes at their ill disguised glee and reach for the to picnic baskets. I flip the woven lid open. A couple loafs of bread are wrapped in sheer white cotton, and a moderately sized cheese wheel beneath. A few sprigs of grapes lay on top of the bread. There is also a wrapped package of what seems to be smoked antelope meat. The second basket holds a few pewter plates, goblets, and two bottles of wine. 

Carefully, I set everything up. We all proceed to eat our midday meal, though it is now late afternoon. Hopefully this outing has sufficiently distracted them from the map incident. The atmosphere is light and casual, practicing more words. The Watchers sit some distance away with their share, hiding their faces from view.

Bread. Grape. Wine. Basket. Flower. Rock. 

Deirdre teaches them more words over lunch, her happiness overflowing into the atmosphere of the group. It is something I always admired about Deirdre. She can make anyone feel at ease by simply being herself. 

I find myself participating. “I like bread.” I say slowly to the group. “I dislike bread.” 

“Like, is to enjoy or approve or something. Dislike is the opposite.” Deirdre jumps in, informative as ever. 

Dorian tilts his head. “I like… Wine. Yes?”

I nearly break into sniggers. Of course that is what he decides to say. Flamboyant must be his middle name. Dorian would get along well with Commander Owaiglyn.

As the others continue the lesson, I begin packing the dishes back into the baskets. Solas takes one of the papers used to wrap the bread and carefully places the reagents inside. He tucks it into one of the satchels attached to his waist. 

“Deirdre?” I ask, mischievousness growing in my voice. 

She turns her attention to me, snapping so quickly I am surprised she doesn’t have whiplash. “Hm?” 

“I am going to run from the Watchers now. Please get everyone back safely.” I speak cheerily as the Watcher’s attention from their huddle. I blink. Watcher One is an Alfar with curly blonde hair. I… was not expecting to see her face. 

I spring up from the ground, spry as a fox. Then like said fox, I flee as the hounds (Watchers) attempt to converge. Once I gain a good distance I wave to our new castaway friends and disappear into the tunnels.

Honestly. The Watchers never learn. 

Nothing makes me feel more alive than the chase. I let out a huffing laugh as I keep sprinting, easily losing the Watchers. 

Truly, an endless source of entertainment. 

LINEBREAK

Solas Interlude

 

The first thing he noticed about this island is the magic. It is not hidden behind the veil or diminished in the slightest. It roams freely. It practically saturates the air, the water, and the earth. Naturally entwined with the world. Solas felt it as one feels a punch to the gut. He had missed the ease of flowing magic. Yet. It felt off. Not quite what he remembered. Powerful, but not as wieldable. Not as easily manipulated as it was in his time. His weakness, perhaps? Yes, that must be it. He must not be strong enough to pull on the strength he once had. 

Hope. The slightest ray of hope shines through. Perhaps some remnants of the People are here. It makes sense. They work to bring the veil down in a contained area. It works, the magic returns, and their immortality with it. Ideally, this would be the best of possibilities. The Evanuris were not the only great mages in Elvhenan. With research and great effort it could be possible. Surely the Dalish are not all that remains. Solas scoffs at the idea. No. This place is a sign. It has to be. 

Then an elf plummets from the cliffside, blindsiding both his party and the odd aquatic creatures on the tiny patch of land. She surfaces, a small laugh echoing through the cave as she starts to swim towards the nearest surface. Then a bolt of electricity is thrown across the water, and the elf let out a shriek of pain. She swiftly reaches shore, throwing a few ice and fire spells at the creatures. Solas is quick to interfere, infuriated at both her carelessness and the creatures hurting one that might be of his kin. In the back of his mind, he is pleased to note she needed no staff to cast magic. 

He cannot help the elven words that spill out of his tongue scathingly. “Iras nuvaea mar ghi'lan, da'lan?” Where is your minder, girl?

She only blinks blankly at him. His heart sinks. Was he wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so my laptop is completely screwed, and my life is on a train wreck to hell. Haha... What a joy. 
> 
> No seriously, I can pull half the screen off the hinge and I can sometimes still get it to work. 
> 
> So anyways, the Rite of Introduction. 
> 
> Basically in order to be considered an adult in Dokkalfar culture, one must complete three trials. The first tests ones integrity, the second, the ability to endure pain, and the third tests perseverance in the face of danger. (Not made up, straight from wikipedia) 
> 
> The elvish is from Fenxshiral. Fen'Harel enaste to you for your hard work! 
> 
> And yeah. That's all. Thanks for reading!


	3. What Happens When you Drink your Troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bless your face, everyone who has been liking this. 
> 
> I have such fun writing things like this. Be warned though: As much as I adore comedy, tragedy is my favourite. 
> 
> But we're not there yet :)

“And that’s why.. Why you don’t sit your ass down and accept the way things are.” Eola slurs, her voice insistent. “ ‘Cause if not for me, Argath would have been stew. Literally. Stew.” 

“By Akara, Eola, maybe you ought to go sleep off the drink.” Toomy says as he pulls her mug away from her. 

“I paid for that, you shady bitch.” Eola hisses at him playfully, before giggling. 

Varric chuckles, understanding the gist of what was being said. “Easy, Vexie. Don’t want… sick.”

“No, Varric I got this. I do. Here, watch this!” Eola exclaims as she pulls herself up from the bar stool. She stumbles, but manages to correct her balance. She unsteadily makes her way to the table in the middle of the hall. Then she climbs up on it, kicking a pitcher of water out of her way.

Myfa looks up from her throne and blinks at Eola. The red haired dokkalfar takes on an amused expression, placing her cup down. “Indulge us with a song, Scion?” 

“Whaat? No way, I’m horrible at singing.” She protests. 

“Do it!” Zefwyn calls from where he is observing on the second floor. 

“Shut it, Zef! No one asked for your opinion!” Tielore shoots back as him.   
“But you must, Scion Eola.” Sunhilda intones, her voice gleeful. “Our Lady has instructed it of you.” 

Eola levels a ‘Are you serious?” look at the ljosalfar before glancing at Myfa, who only smirks. She slumps her shoulders. ‘Fiine.” She takes half a swaggering step on the table before stumbling. Once Eola steadies herself, she begins singing at a mumble.

“Louder, Eola!” Zefwyn shouts with a wicked grin. 

She whirls and points at him. “Fuck you. I can sing, watch me go.” 

 

One day in bright cradled spring, stepped forth  
She who wroughts change, daughter of autumn kin  
To the General damned cruelly by Fate  
To never succeed, to never win

To the General spoke she;  
“Allow me to take up your task,  
Fates’ bind no longer holds me  
I shall change your destiny.”

With disbelieve she was answered,  
“Ten years of bitter searching,” the General sighed  
“If you so wish it then to the windstones go  
Chime them and we shall see if it is so.”

And so she went, Windstone calling  
Against all odds, they went a-chiming  
The silence gone, windstones singing  
The ancient doors, once sealed, opening

To the general she returned, gleefully smiling  
“The hour of your quest is close at hand,  
Fret not of destiny, I am free of its’ strings  
So long as I am here Fate is no king.”

 

As she finishes, Eola kicks a silver bowl off the table. “See that, bitch? Nailed it!” 

“She seems much more dignified in song than in reality.” Sunhilda observes offhandedly to Myfa. 

Myfa hums, choosing to refrain from replying. Instead she looks at the rather inebriated dokkalfar and muffles a laugh. “I believe it is time for bed, dear. You have… garbage disposal tomorrow. Zefwyn, if you would?” 

Said male swings himself off the second floor landing and soundlessly lands on the floor below. “Hey, Eola, you heard what Lady Myfa said. It’s beddy bye time.”

“UgghHGGGh.” Eola groans, jumping on the middle of the wooden dining table. “This is all Toomy’s fault.” 

“Wait, what?” The bartender questions, pointing at himself confusedly.

Eola crosses her arms and nods knowingly. “He was sell-hic-ing it. Only logical.” 

Toomy shakes his head. “Yeah, but you bought it. Obviously, that would make it your own damn fault, missy.” 

She jumps again, frowning at him. “No, just say that I’m right. Too tired to argue.”

“You gotta get down and off to bed, Eola. Don’t make me go up there to get you.” Zefwyn threatens an a somber voice, ruined by the smile forcing its way across his face. 

Eola jumps again, turning in mid air to face Zefwyn. Only this time, the table cracks and Eola drops through. She startles and ends up hanging half off the table with one of her feet stuck on the edge of the hole. 

The room immediately abrupts into laughter. Varric slams his mug down so hard the entire thing shatters, leaving him with only a handle. This sets Dorian and Mahanon into hysterics, while Solas only covers his mouth with his hand. Despite this, his eyes still shine with amusement.

Zefwyn swoops in and retrieves Eola from the table hole, and drags her back to her room. 

 

NIGHT END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent an absurd amount of time making up two ballads for this. And yes, that poem is originally by me. I call this one “Fate is no King.” The other one is “The Alfar come Hence.”   
> Like I said I’ve spent hours making those bloody songs, so if someone wants to use them in an amalur story, ask first yeah? 
> 
> Anyways, I’m hoping I’ll have something by then end of the month to put up, but I have to finish a shit ton of stuff this month rip. 
> 
> Regardless, always remember: Swooping is Bad. 
> 
> Have a glorious night, you all. Don’t party like Eola does. She’s a bad role model.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew children could be so cutthroat? 
> 
> Fight me, this is almost entirely world building 
> 
> Happy Holidays everybody!

Ayln Shir,

It seems I have been landed in a troublesome situation again. I have discovered a new race of people in the Teeth of Nandos. They are called the Kollase, people made of stone, who stand at least twice as tall as I. Apparently they are kin of the Jotton and of the Ettin. Not only that, but they have a floating city! It is lovely, but Rathir’s architecture is much more elegant. 

Regardless, to the point I wished to address. An entity claiming to be Ethene spoke to me, claiming that I am to be its champion. It is terribly far fetched, but now the Kollase are convinced I am some sort of prophet. Now I must go with their leader- who has been in seclusion for decades- to find some feathers. What he wants to do with these feathers? Make a crown. I do not know what to think anymore. Perhaps he has gone mad. But I will go and collect these feathers, and hope that there is not some devious plot going on in the background. 

-Eola, House Drynne

\------------------------------------------------------------- (THIRD PERSON POV SINCE I DIDN’T NOTICE UNTIL I WAS HALFWAY DONE) 

 

Eola observes the large wooden walls surrounding Cape Solace. As she steps closer to the gates, she runs her hand along the wood, checking for holes or any imperfections. Walls or not, a Niskaru Tyrant would rip them to shreds. If she still had contact with Adessa, she would have commissioned stone walls with enchantments. Unfortunately, that option is no longer available. 

The Dokkalfar woman pushes off the wall and jogs to the front gates. She lifts her hand in greeting to Cadwallon Gwynedd, who is standing guard near the entrance to the village. “Hello, Eola. How do you do?” He asks, eyes glinting curiously. He continues speaking without waiting for a reply.“I hear we have some unusual visitors. Shall you bring them down to the village at some point?”

She laughs. “Gossip mongering as ever, aren’t you?” 

Cadwallon rolls his eyes. “There isn’t much to do around here. What else is there to do but to gossip?” 

“I never knew that the townsfolk were suffering such. Should I do something scandalous to entertain? Maybe outlaw pants or ban the usage of utensils?” Eola offers, crossing her arms with an amused smirk. 

He waves his hand, dismissing the idea. “This new game of intrigue you are playing is interesting enough. I mean, presenting yourself as an underling while having Myfa act as your stand in? Brilliant.” His eyes narrow. “And don’t think I didn’t notice that evasion, dear.” 

Eola huffs. “Fine, fine. I’ll probably bring them down sometime in the next few days. Maybe I’ll leave them in Myfa’s care. I cannot leave the Niskaru alone for too long. Should they populate too much...” 

“You say that like it’s a dull chore, Eola. I wish you’d take someone with you next time. Niskaru are incredibly dangerous.” Cadwallon reprimands gently. 

She bounces on the balls of her feet. “Ah, ah. Remember it was I who brought down the Niskaru Tyrant Horrinox, single handedly. “

“Mhm, I know. You are Eola Fate-Breaker, she who slayed Gadflow and all that other stuff. Just take it easy. The whole village relies on you to keep us safe. We can’t have you dying anytime soon.” Cadwallon speaks lightly. 

Eola blinks at him and answers wryly. “Nice to see my efforts appreciated. Anyways, I want to do some shopping. I’ll see you around.” 

As she walks past him into the gate he calls after her playfully. “Just ignoring people when you’re done with a conversation is quite childish, my Lady!” 

She spins around, a cheerful smile on her face as she lazily walks back to him. Eola leans forwards and flicks his nose. She then turns around and leaves Cadwallon baffled as she continues into the village. 

LINEBREAK

In the past, Eola had taken great pains to ensure a stable economy on the island. This had resulted in a market filled to the brim with all the goods the island has to offer. Along with the items that came in from the nearby nations, it was previously one of Amalur’s most exotic markets. Now however, there are no imports coming in, leaving it in a rather destitute state compared to its former glory. 

She glances forlornly across the market- many of the stalls are empty. It had been one of her favourite things, to examine bolts of fabric, to buy foreign sweets, and to run her hands through imported spices. But none of these things could be found on Gallow’s End any longer. Eola particularly missed fudge. She hadn’t the slightest clue how to make it but gods be damned she would do anything for a piece of fudge.

Eola stands, musing in thought (Which seems to happen more often than not lately) when she feels a little hand tugging her shirt. The alfar looks down to see Milan, Cadwallon and Nesta’s seven year old daughter pulling at her robes. The young Dokkalfar has chin length black hair cut in a bob, and is wearing a plum coloured dress with silvery grey slippers. 

“Hello, Milan. Need something?” Eola asks the young girl with an indulgent smile as she crouches down.

“Yah. I want a mango, but my allowance is all gone. Get me one?” Milan asks, her violet eyes blinking up at the older alfar. 

“You usually get your allowance on the night of the half moon. That was only two days ago. What did you spend it all on?” Eola questions curiously.

“Mangoes.” Is the simply reply the girl gives. 

Eola blinks. “Ah.” 

“Mango?” Milan asks, tugging Eola’s robes again. 

The older alfar sighs. “Alright, alright. Let’s go get you a mango.” 

The child simply takes Eola’s hand and pulls her through the village, until they reach Elwa Brond’s merchant stand. The blonde woman smirks. “Found another person to fuel your sweet tooth, kiddo? I’m impressed by your drive.”

Milan only stares at her blankly as she stretches out her hand. “Mango.” 

The merchant tosses her one from the basket and looks up at Eola. “I’ll send the bill up to the Keep. I know you don’t usually carry coins on you.”

“I am a Shadowcaster after all. Coins jingle too much to keep on me. Especially with my blink abilities.” The Dokkalfar woman replies.

“Yeah, that’s fair. So, anything else you’d like to get?” Elwa asks, gesturing at her wares. 

Eola looks over the table. “Do you have any silk from Cannaroc left? I’d like to have the inside of my robes lined with it.”

Elwa snorts. “As much as you claim to not be a noble, your taste is similar to theirs. I’ll send the silk and the bill up to the Keep later. Is that all?” 

“Yes, that’s all. I’ll see you another time if there isn’t anything else?” Eola questions as Milan tugs her robes again. 

“Don’t let the little one get away with too much. She’s a demanding little thing.” Elwa advises before shooing the two away from her stall. 

Milan pulls Eola away with one hand, the other clutching the mango as she takes small bites out of it. Eola raises an eyebrow. “Where are we going?” 

“Away.” Is all the child states as Eola allows herself to be tugged along. 

They make their way through the wooden cabins towards the docks. A group of the other children from the village seem to have converged around the area. Looking rather shifty, in Eola’s humble opinion. 

Milan leads her to the grouping of children, where Linara, the oldest child, at eleven years old steps forwards. The blonde Ljosalfar girl shoves a basket towards Milan. “Your payment, as promised.” 

The seven year old steps forward to receive the basket. She draws back the blue and white cloth covering it to reveal that the basket holds… Mangoes. “Good doing business with you.” Is all she says as she walks away with the basket. 

“That girl is going places.” Eola mutters as she watches the girl amble lazily away. 

“Eola Fate-Breaker! The Council of the Logical Awesome Superior People (CLASP) summons you to discuss our terms in a more formal setting!” Linara declares loudly, pointing her finger at the dokkalfar woman. 

Said woman blinks. “Wait… you made a union?!” 

“It was Milan’s idea! If you don’t agree to our terms, we’ll tell the Watchers about your favourite hiding spots.” Tha almain child, Umir Arding exclaims with a smirk. He crosses his arms smugly.

“Is Milan a member of this?” Eola asks, feeling a slight headache forming. 

“Nope!” Eriken Brond states nonchalantly. The Varani boy grins. “She’s more of a con-sul-tont. Whatever that means.” 

Eola blinks again, before shifting uncomfortably. “Alright. What do you all want to talk about?” 

Janic, a varani boy, hisses at her. “Not in the open, dummy. We gotta go to the Council Chambers.” 

A sigh escapes her. “Very well, CLASP. Lead the way.” 

 

LINEBREAK

The four children and Eola climb down the docks onto an overhanging cliff. A shallow cave comes into sight. Small rocks painted various colours litter the ground, and a large of amount of pillows and blankets are scattered about. A few baskets are shoved against the walls. Upon closer examination, Eola finds they are filled with various candied fruits and sweets. Thin strips of various cloths are strung across the ceiling. The walls of the caves have messy paintings of vague shapes in an assortment of colours.

Linara sits down on a pillow, crossing her legs. She reaches over to a basket and pops a candy into her mouth. “Welcome to CLASP’s secret base!” 

Eola gapes at her surroundings. “So it was you guys stealing all of those pillows. I had to replace those out of pocket!” She adds, sulkingly. 

“Grownup problems! Don’t care. What we do care about is our pay for distracting the Watchers.” Janic says as he drops onto a blanket, lounging back. “It’s getting hard to keep their attention.” 

The dokkalfar woman still isn’t sure if she is hallucinating or not. 

“Anyway, we just want to make sure we get stuff in return! Like maybe some new furniture for the hideout?” Eriken suggests easily.

Eola protests. “How am I even supposed to get furniture down here, especially without people noticing?!”

“Not. Our. Problem.” Janic says airily as he stretches out. “Not unless you want to lose all your hidey spots!” 

“Blackmailed by children… This is truly a new low.” Eola mutters. She looks back up at the four. “Fine, fine I’ll get you furniture. Just keep my places to yourself. Or you’ll suddenly find yourself without a secret base.” She threatens sternly. “And do not venture any further down the cliff. There are dangerous creatures and I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“Mean!” Linara exclaims, sticking her tounge out. “But we accept! CLASP is happy to be general mischief makers once again.”

Eola sighs as she steps back towards the docks. “Come up to the Keep for breakfast tomorrow, alright? It’s on me. We can talk about what sort of stuff you need then.” 

Janic gives her a lazy thumbs up as he drops onto his back. 

Umir nods, “We’ll be there. See you tomorrow, Lady.”

The dokkalfar woman gives a lazy salute to the children and starts climbing up to the docks. Tired, and somewhat amused, she winds through Cape Solace. As she exits the gate, Eola says off handly to Cadwallon. “You should teach your daughter about budgeting. I think it’ll help her in the long run.” 

“What?” He questions briefly, confusion on his face as she breezes past him towards Gravehal Keep. She turns, gives him the faintest of grins, and then continues on her way. 

LINEBREAK

Eola uses the underground tunnels to re-enter the Keep stealthily, preferring to keep away from the gates. The gates, after all, are likely where the Watchers are waiting for her. Eola wants none of that. She walks lightly through the torch-lit pathways until she comes to the ladder which leads into the keep itself. She climbs the ladder, and opens the trap door that opens up into her room. She startles Sunhilda as the cover thumps open.

She smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, Sunhilda. Would you mind getting Myfa for me?” Eola asks as she pulls herself up. 

The Ljosalfar nods. “Of course, Scion.” 

The Dokkalfar shuts the trapdoor and quickly steps to her desk. She hastily stacks papers in somewhat neat stacks, trying to create some illusion of organization. She collects her quills and pushes them all onto the side of the desk. Then she hears a light knock on the door. “Scion Eola?” 

Eola withdraws her hands from the desk and turns to the door. “Come in!” 

The red headed dokkalfar woman enters the room, a pleasant smile on her face. She closes the door behind her. “My lady, what can I do for you?” 

Eola paces. “The day of the three-quarter moon will be coming up soon, and I wanted to discuss which policies I wish for you to announce.”

“Ah, yes. The hearings, where people may come to tell the ruler their concerns. I hope Zefwyn does not ask for a race through the Tidal Pools. I will not partake in that particular tradition.” Myfa states, waving her hand dismissively as she takes a seat in one of the two plush chairs in front of the desk. 

Eola rounds the desk and sits opposite to Myfa. “As you know, I prefer diplomatic solutions.” The brunette runs a pale hand through her hair. “Try to keep things fairly neutral. Make sure to be firm, but kind. I will make it known to you if I disapprove.” She states to the diplomat. 

Said alfar looks at her calculatingly. “As you will, my Lady. I am quite enjoying this farce, so do feel free to continue as long as you wish. After, I look forwards to forging bonds with new potential allies. Let us hope your efforts will be fruitful.” Myfa speaks confidently, sweeping up from her seat and heading towards the door. She pauses and looks back. “Do not forget that your deception could be considered betrayal if you do not tell them eventually.” 

“I’ll get there eventually, Myfa. Thank you for your insight.” Eola replies with a slight smile. 

Myfa bows her head in acknowledgement, and vanishes out of the room. A sigh escapes Eola’s lips, and she sinks down into her seat. “Ugh. Politics.”

Tielore takes a moment, and just stares at the ceiling. 

She stares blankly. 

“How is this my life?” 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eola manages to regain some dregs of her sanity and exits her room. She leans on the railing, glancing around the hall. She then hops the railing, landing with a loud thud on the floor below. 

Mahanon, Varric, Dorian, and Solas all turn around to look at the source of the noise from the bar. With a crooked grin, she salutes the four, before hopping up on a bar seat and ordering a round of drinks. 

Varric gives her a questioning look. “Why… go?” 

Instead of replying, Eola drains the mug Toomy sets in front of her. She then turns to the four and smiles. “Because I do what I want.” 

\----------------

This was the beginning of a night of drunken debauchery 

\----------------


End file.
